The Unorthodox Exorcism
by chibichocopaws
Summary: Father Maxwell is anything but your orthodox priest, and prizes his hard work more so as a detective than anything else, but when he arrives in a small town to do an exorcism, he finds more than he's expecting. RR
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face.

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd please e-mail me with the subject BETA at chibichocopaws(at)hotmail(.)com if you are interested in doing so for any of my past, current and or future works.

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Chapter One

Father Maxwell was anything but your orthodox priest. In fact, his renowned fame was based solely on his reputation as an investigator. He prized his work on discovering the truth of possession. All 247 of his exorcism cases had resulted in nothing but an investigation, a list of suspects, and an eventual arrest for various crimes committed. Not once in his 14 years as a priest had he encountered an actual demon possession, and perhaps his unorthodox ways were due to his decreasing faith. It was not that he did not believe in God, far from it actually, Father Maxwell held his faith entirely upon God, deeming himself a soldier and teacher of God and his Almighty ways; however, Father Maxwell had begun to lose his belief in the devil himself with each arrest. God was simpler to believe than the devil. Miracles had occurred many times with no explanation but divine intervention. However, most of his cases led him to believe that only humans were evil, for if there were a devil, would he not attempt to show himself? Would he not attempt to prove himself to the world? Would he not attempt to make the humans shudder? Would he not attempt to make God shudder Himself? And Father Maxwell's simple analysis of the situation pointed to the simple answer of no existing devil. But there was more to Father Maxwell than just his beliefs that made him unorthodox.

His long chestnut hair, pulled back into a lose braid, swayed past his behind. His outfit; although, in style of that of a priest, was much tighter and more of the hip new trends of the teenagers during these days. Like a priest, Father Maxwell was found wearing his priest outfit at all times. The typical white neck band was adorned under the collar of his black button up shirt, which was tucked into the black pants to appeal to the older more sophisticated folk he worked with; although, if it were his choice, he would see no issue with wearing the shirt loosely hanging over his pants. His boots, always polished brilliantly, were heavy with a thick sole, adding more height to his short stature. Around his neck, dangling loosely to his mid chest, was a simple golden cross on a small golden chain clipped together in the back and also tucked under his button up collar.

The day he received a call from a small town doctor with wishes for an exorcism on a so called possessed child, he was quick to accept the job without details. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if the real culprit turned out to be the doctor himself drugging the poor child for his own gruesome experiments. This of course only further proved his point of a non-existent devil.

He left his office in no rush, his only inspiration was to save a life and, if he were being truly honest with himself, the cash that would be handsomely rewarded to him for his work. He slowly closed the vidphone, polished his gold cross by blowing a hot breathe of air upon it, then diligently rubbing it upon his shirt; when it shone in the dim light from the lamp on his desk, he smiled proudly to himself. He looked next to the door in the mirror, flattening a free strand of hair, frowning to himself, and shrugging when he realized it was a futile battle to attempt control over his unruly hair. His leather jacket, another item pointing towards his unorthodox ways, was hung on a wooden rack near the door, his keys inside the front right pocket. He was sure to turn off the light and lock his door on his way out, knowing he would be gone for quite awhile. His trip was to be long, and most likely longer on his way back due to lack of sleep and possible irritation if the culprit was any good at what he did.

He wasn't worried about packing a bag. As a priest always on the move, Father Maxwell was never the kind to be unprepared for a long arduous trip. Not that he needed to pack much, or take time out to think of which outfits would be best for which weather conditions.

He unlocked the door to his Saleen S7, the doors swishing upwards and catching the eye of many envious individuals walking the streets. He couldn't help but smile at the reaction he received from onlookers every time he sat in the beauty. It was an old car, but nevertheless one that he loved dearly. It was one of the few things he pleasured himself in having. A racy sleek black, with dark tinted windows and spinning rims, which back in the days the Saleen S7 was designed, was quite a spectacular trend; however, not so much anymore. His philosophy, when asked why a priest would indulge in such a worldly item, was that indulgence in moderation was not necessarily something looked down upon by the Almighty. God couldn't have created humans with the ability to feel pleasure if they were not meant to feel it. Of course, the times he wasn't in the spotlight due to his cases, he was in the spotlight for his words, being criticized by fellow clergymen, or being commended by his peers and the younger folk whom agreed with him.

The drive to the shuttle port was short, not but five minutes. When he arrived he was sure to place his car in the private parking. As his prized worldly possession, Father Maxwell did anything in his possible power to keep his car from being broken into or stolen. His home colony L2 was not exactly what one would call a friendly non-criminal active colony.

He boarded a small shuttle, paid monthly amongst the clergymen that used it. Many priests and nuns looked up from their conversations or paperwork to glare at him. Their extra piercing intensity was due to the fact that he had yet to remove his large sunglasses. The others simply ignored him as he took a seat in his usual spot aboard the shuttle. No other clergymen had ever taken the seat next to him. One man even aborted his payments due to the fact that the only seat left for him was next to Father Maxwell. The priests deemed him as nothing but an imposter. A fraud and a disgrace to the word religion. One even went as far as to claim Father Maxwell was the devil himself attempting to corrupt the church.

The words and glowers had never upset Father Maxwell; instead he went about his business, ignoring the assaults entirely. He slipped his hand into his duffle bag and pulled out a small media player. Scrolling through the songs and playing his favorite while he slipped on the tiny earphones and fell soundly into sleep, a dreamless sleep that always occupied his mind, yet still a deep sleep that would rest him enough for his long trip to the small town.

The shuttle was flying from L2, towards L5, passing the three remaining colonies on the way, and then descending towards Earth, circling in the atmosphere over Asia, Europe, and the Atlantic Ocean to land in a shuttle port in the state of New York. He would take a private car service for a two hour ride to Connecticut and still yet another hour to the small farm town called Durham. He wasn't exactly excited to be stranded in the middle of nowhere. He assumed the police force, if they had one, would be very weak. He doubted he would be able to hire an assistant from the investigations bureau if need be, and a forensic science lab was even more doubtful. However, upon his arrival, happiness swelled his heart.

Rolling lush green hills, with large three story houses randomly placed upon them. He passed many farms. Inhaling deeply and regretting shortly after as the smell of cow manure filled his nostrils. Although the smell wasn't exactly to his senses, seeing the many different animals appeased him for the fifteen minute drive through the small town to the address given by the doctor.

The car came to a halt in front of a small mint green, one story house. The shades were all pulled down, and there were three cars in the driveway. The road, unlike most of the roads in the town he had driven through, was adorned with single floored houses next to each other. At the end, a cul-de-sac, which, if looked passed, was a barbed wire fence and a steer chewing idly on grass.

Father Maxwell shouldered his duffle bag, stepping out of the car and paying his driver in pure cash with an extra tip for taking him the scenic route. He wasn't exactly sure if that was the only way into the town, but nevertheless he enjoyed it thoroughly.

He stretched his arms above his head, working the kinks out of his back and shoulders, and then twisting his neck in both directions, receiving a small pop from both movements and a release of the stiffness that was overwhelming his body.

The silver beamer behind the two trucks, he assumed, must have been the doctors. He was happy the man hadn't left, as he would be the first person interviewed by the priest, and possibly the first suspect. It was unlike Father Maxwell to prejudge however. It was his job to answer the questions and fix the problems; going into a case with a prejudice mind would most likely result in a silly mistake.

He walked up the short driveway, stepping onto the small rock dabbled concrete path, up the two steps, and to the screen door. The door bell was dirty and worn as if the family had guests over often. He pushed the button, a soft melody echoing inside the house, and a light breeze twisted his hair and rippled through his shirt, flowing through his nostrils the scent of freshly cut grass. He had to admit to himself the peace of the town was very calming and unnerving, and he wouldn't mind living there, as long as he stayed away from the awful smell of compost filtering its way throughout the entire town.

He heard a loud crash inside and a woman shouted desperately for the thing making the noise to stop. This was something he had encountered once before. A teenage boy had been put on the pressure by his peers to try drugs; he had a very bad trip, and beat his own mother to death. The child's dad had called Father Maxwell because he believed the child was possessed. It was only a matter of minutes that Father Maxwell had realized the boy had been eating mushrooms and smoking pcp. He frowned to himself, hoping this case was more interesting and with less deadly outcomes. The thrashing continued and the woman screeched then all went deadly silent. He hoped the deadly silence wasn't a shadow of a murder that just took place but a locked door away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face.

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Still looking for someone to BETA my work. See my profile for more details.

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Chapter Two

Father Maxwell stood at the closed white door, his duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, and a blank expression gilded his face, while his mind fluttered with what could possibly be happening inside the quaint house in front of him.

In his pondering, he was startled when the door flew open to reveal a thin grave man. He was adorned in a dull grey suit, a white button up underneath, his unbuttoned jacket, and the shirt slightly pulled up from its previously neat tuck. There was a thick band of blood smeared downwards from what seemed to be a hand print, his grey tie flung over one shoulder. His face seemed hollow, deep dark circles under his baggy eyelids, his pupils small and dilated, and his hair frazzled in what looked to be a scuffle. Father Maxwell forced his mind not to be prejudice; however, for his own mental appeasement, justified himself with the thought that this man looked to be just like the other doctor he encountered in a previous case, whom had later been convicted in 17 other murder cases and inhumane medical practice involving an under aged child.

Father Maxwell cleared his throat to speak; however, before he got the time, the man spoke rapidly, his eyes lightening as dawning settled in. "You are here! Thank the God you are here!" The priest hadn't gone without noticing his odd phrase of 'thank the God'; however, as he was pulled into the house by the arms, the thought was devoured by his anger of the injustice of grabbing a priest as such.

However, as had occurred with the doctor just moments before, his attempts to retaliate and redeem himself were ill-fated when a woman in a colorful dress with Mary Jane buckle shoes ran towards him and engulfed him with a bear hug; sobbing onto his jacket, the tears streaming down the leather and splattering onto the wooden floor beneath them, leaving nothing but a thin stream of water on his jacket. She muttered over and over, "thank you Father, thank you."

He was quite taken back by their sudden response, and began to become suspicious. Everything seemed over played, and mentally he noted both mother and doctor as potential suspects and to further his investigation, but first he was to see the boy.

A man stepped through a doorway which looked to lead from a thin hallway. His hair and clothing were scrappy, but his face was cool, calm and collected. His voice did not falter as he spoke, "I put him back in bed as you asked Doctor. He did not wake once."

"Thank you Father, thank you!" The woman continued to chant into Father Maxwell's ear, squeezing tighter as she spoke, restricting the full lung capacity by more than was expected. When he opened his mouth to take a deeper breath something caught in his throat, and he was quick to clear it. The tickle remained persistent; however, and he quickly fell into a fit of coughing. Before he knew it he was being led to the kitchen but a few steps away and given a fresh class of cold well water.

"My apologies," Father Maxwell spoke, his voice slightly hoarse from the scratching that had occurred but seconds before. "I had a slight tickle." He rubbed at his throat, eyeing the three individuals before him.

"You must be Father Maxwell," said the collected man as he flattened his hair in a manner very much like the priest had done earlier, and also with no avail. "I am Jareth's father, Randolf. This is my wife Amelia, and our son's doctor, Dr. Griffith. Shall I show you to my son?"

Father Maxwell nodded slightly, still rubbing at his raw throat. They returned to the main room which was adorned with matching green plaid furniture and what looked to be a wardrobe. He was led into a small hallway which made him feel slightly claustrophobic in the tight quarters surrounded by three other individuals. The door to a dark room, walls painted with a light brown and sponged with metallic gold, was open, and Randolf's hand ushered the priest in by himself. The three remained by the door watching the priest, but not daring to peek in themselves.

The shades were pulled down; however, this room looked to be much darker than the others. The shades themselves were black, and a small sheer black fabric hung idly over them. The air was stale and smelled of body odor and unwashed clothing. The boy lay unmoving on a dark cherry wood sleigh bed in the middle of the room. There were various items strewn about the ground. Father Maxwell went to the pale boy. His white almost translucent skin shone his dark purple veins pulsing heavily beneath it. His eyes, although closed, were tinted by visible purple and black circles, one underneath each eye. He sighed and prayed to God that this not be a child abuse case. The boy twitched slightly but remained silent and afterwards unmoving. Father Maxwell took the boys pulse which was at an alarming rate. The boy's skin was cold to the touch, and the priest feared it may be too late for him.

He sighed to himself and shook his head. "May I use your bathroom?" He asked politely, and Randolf pointed next to him without moving, forcing Father Maxwell to sidle between the man and the wall to get into the small bathroom.

The bathroom was a dark earthly brown, with artistic abstract cat trinkets placed on every shelf and most of the counter space. Next to one trinket sat a quarter sized black spider with a purple stripe. Father Maxwell couldn't help but take a quick step back, startled by the creature. Now it wasn't that Father Maxwell was afraid of spiders per se, but they still gave him the heebie-jeebies. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, and scratched a section of his head under his hair, then scratched his forearm above his elbow, then scratched his side, then scratched his leg, then scratched his nose and shifted his shoulders again, shaking his head to free his mind of the psychological hold the spider had on him at the moment. He took a small amount of toilet paper from the roll and attempted to squish the spider. It scatted across the counter and up the wall. However when Father Maxwell went to crush it again, his eyes focused on something closer to him; a bright neon green spider dangling but mere centimeters from his face.

He shuddered violently and took a step back. Taking in the whole view of the bathroom and seeing, just above the mirror was a large centipede with hair like legs sprawled on the ceiling. He moved back into the center of the small bathroom, observing all the bugs around him. A cockroach crawled out from the bathtub and Father Maxwell began to feel his stomach curl. It was one thing to invite a priest to your home to do a supposed exorcism, but it was another thing to invite a priest to your home to do a supposed exorcism and not at least have a clean house. No wonder the poor boy was so sick and possibly on his death bed, the place must have been filthy to be home to that many varmints. He suddenly became even more ill, pondering if the water was as unhealthy as their cleaning habits.

He quickly removed himself from the bathroom only to be met with three wide curious eyes. Slightly startled, he took a step back into the bathroom and looked to the wall again. The centipede and spiders were now missing and that fact alone made him quite nervous, afraid that perhaps they had quickly found their way onto his body. He shuddered again and began his itching excursions as he had just moments before.

The three exchanged bewildered looks, and then Randolf began speaking; "Uh…" he hesitated until Father Maxwell met his eyes, still idly itching a spot on his arm, "do you know what's wrong with him?"

"I will have to speak with each of you individually to get more information on what you have been witnessing, as far as I can tell his health is very poor at the moment, but that is all. I would like to speak with you first, Doctor Griffith."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd. Please see my profile if you're interested.

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Chapter Three

The doctor nodded and led him into a room a few steps down at the end of the hallway, taking a seat on a metal fold out chair, and then offering the leather swivel chair to the priest. The room was an earthly brown like the bathroom; however, sponged with a lighter more caramel tone. A banner of Earth's map was adorned at the top of the wall, encircling and repeating until it met back at its beginning. There was a large fish tank covered in algae with what looked to be no fish; however, if there were any it would be impossible to notice through the green muck. A metal filing cabinet sat next to the fish tank, and across from it a roll top wooden desk which was closed and hiding its contents.

Father Maxwell took the seat, and without hesitation, began his investigation. "You look quite unprofessional today Doctor, what's with the blood?" He eyed the man suspiciously and awaited an answer.

"Well you see Sir," The Doctor explained, looking down at his shirt then returning his gaze to the priests eyes, "The boy has been spitting out and throwing up blood, more so than any normal human should be able to withstand. I have never seen a child lose so much blood and yet remain alive. It amazes me he still has any in his body. Thus, as I'm sure you noticed, the very cold temperature of the boy's body."

Father Maxwell nodded, not believing the man in the least bit, then cursing himself for coming into a case with a biased mind. "So how did a smeared hand print get on your shirt?"

"The boy, well," the doctor hesitated, attempting to find the right words to describe the incident that took place but moments before the priest had arrived, "was floating, I suppose, above his bed, his body lay flat as if he were still lying, but he was in the air," Father Maxwell lifted a doubtful eyebrow, thinking perhaps the doctor had seen too many possession movies, "and the objects strewn about his room, as I'm sure you noticed, were floating as well, in quite a fast speed I must add. I attempted to pull the boy down by the leg, but he turned his body over, opened his eyes, and told me to get off in a voice that was not his own, but a voice which that of a sinister man might have."

"That still does not explain the handprint on your shirt Doctor." Father Maxwell was getting bored, he too had seen many horror movies, and everything the man was describing was just that, a scene from a horror movie.

"Well, in my attempts to get the boy down, he spit blood upon my face, grabbed me around the neck and lifted me up as well," the priest was getting more and more unconvinced of the doctors story by the minute, "after he dropped me, he jumped atop of me and pulled my shirt repeating," and the man hesitated again, "may I swear in front of you Sir?"

"You're not religious are you?"

The man shook his head, but Father Maxwell nodded at his question. "He continued to repeat 'Fuck you' as he shook me. He's quite strong for a young boy, but I don't think it's his own strength."

"For something so traumatizing you don't seem too shaken up by the whole ordeal. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

"Well Sir, I'm more shaken up than I look. As a doctor I have never experienced anything like this before. I'm, needless to say, shocked," Dr. Griffith looked at Father Maxwell expectantly.

"You may go then. Please send in Randolf," but the doctor remained in his chair, staring directly into azure eyes and asked a simple but rather threatening question.

"How are you to help this poor boy," and as he continued his eyes returned pale as a rock as they had been upon Father Maxwell's first arrival, "if you don't even believe us?"

The brunette scowled in return, as if daring the doctor to continue to question him, even if he had been right, "I never said such a thing. Now please send in the child's father."

Dr. Griffith returned the frown and stood, with a squeak from the metal fold out chair and a groan from a loose floor board the man led himself out the door and beckoned Randolf to enter.

The man was wearing jeans and a raggedy old maroon t-shirt, his hair was still mussed, but for the first time the priest noticed he shared no blood on his clothes as the doctor had. His face was harsh as stone, with deep frown lines around his mouth and forehead. As he entered the room, he closed the door rather heavily, its latch clicking loudly, and his heavy name brand steal toed boots thudded on the wooden floor.

Before even speaking or making eye contact, he pulled the chair farther away from the priest, it's rubber bottoms squeaking on its path, then sat down with a loud groan and placed his head in his calloused hands.

After a few moments of silence, one which the boys father found quite awkward, while the priest found quite amusing, Randolf rose his head to speak, his voice still calm, "Father Maxwell," but his voice rose a bit towards the end, leading the priest to believe it had been more so intended as a question.

"Randolf," the priest repeated the man's tone and reveled in the uneasiness the other man felt, while silently reprimanding himself for gaining pleasure from another's uneasiness, he still couldn't feign the grin the crept its way across his face, but finally when the man began to fidget, Father Maxwell decided he may as well get on with it.

"Why don't we start at the beginning?" the priest offered, finally beginning to see the weariness and exhaustion in the man's eyes, "when did all this start and give me all the examples that you can with as much detail as possible."

Randolf sighed and shook his head, "he's not my boy; he's hers. I married into their little family a few years ago and if you ask me that kid's always been an evil piece of shit. He'll do anything to get attention from his mother, anything to separate us, anything to ruin our marriage. I haven't seen him do anything out of the ordinary lately accept just sleep. All he does is sleep."

Father Maxwell leaned forward, rubbing his temples as he rested his elbows on his knees, realizing this was going to be a very difficult case, "so you're telling me you don't believe he's possessed?"

"Possessed!?" he blurted out and began laughing; "is that why you're here?" his face instantly became solemn at the priest's nod of approval, "wow I guess that boy's really been succeeding about separating me and Amelia. She told me you were a better doctor than Dr. Griffith and that you just happened to be a priest as well." He slumped his shoulders and smacked his face into his palms, cradling it.

"So you haven't witnessed anything inhuman or super natural?" Randolf shook his head, bobbing it back and forth between his hands, stretching out the wrinkles atop his forehead, "can you please send in Amelia? I'd like to speak with her."

Randolf stood up abruptly, disbelief and betrayal written across his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd. Please see my profile if you're interested.

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Chapter Four

For the brief moments the room was empty, Father Maxwell wondered why he did not feel guilt for possibly sabotaging or even pity for Randolf and Amelia's rather confusing and disappointing marriage, but as fast as the thoughts entered his mind, they exited with the shut of a door and Amelia's black Mary Janes tapping quickly across the floor towards him. Her tears splattered the leather jacket he still wore as she began her chanting once more and engulfed him in another bear hug.

He patted her shoulder softly and cooed gently, "Amelia, Amelia, that's enough, please have a seat," she followed his instructions easily, wiping from her reddened face what seemed to be an unstoppable flow of tears. "Can you please explain what's going on here? Dr. Griffith says he's witnessed some phenomenal experience, while your husband says he's never witnessed anything but a bratty child, so I'm hoping to get some sort of clarification from you."

Amelia pulled from her blue and yellow floral dress pocket a tissue and whipped the remaining tears from her face, and with a new glimmer in her eyes and a tone as if she tasted something bitter, spat out angrily, "my child is possessed." Her chest heaved violently and her eyes glared maliciously at the priest.

As he gazed daringly back into her brown irises and large pupils his voice came out smoothly, masking his wanton desire to slap her across the face, "and I am here to discover if that's true."

Amelia stood abruptly, the back of her legs ferociously slamming into the chair, sending it flying into the wall and folding down to the floor with a loud clash of metal, "No," her voice boomed and yet still seemed to echo in the rather crowded room as she jabbed a thin well manicured finger into the air but inches from his face, "it is your job to exorcise him."

And in a bout of enragement forced upon him by her lack of disrespect, Father Maxwell intended to do what he did best in a situation which he felt lacked his control, crack a joke about how he failed to bring any equipment, but a workout at the local gym might suffice; however, before the wise crack could escape his lips Randolf came bursting through the doorway, a look that could kill plastered on his face which quickly contorted into befuddlement when it was Amelia he saw standing angrily above the priest, instead of the expected reverse.

"What's going on here?" he demanded rather weakly, his voice cracking a bit in the midst of his confusion.

His wife crossed her arms over her chest like a defiant little child then looked to the corner behind the priest and with a pout on her long face grumbled for her husband to remove himself from the room on the pretense that the conversation did not involve him and that he was making her waste precious time. Randolf obliged, the deadly scowl returning to his face as he slammed the door behind him. For a brief moment, as the heavy thud reverberated throughout the door, Father Maxwell feared the entire house may cave in on itself, until all came to a steady silence.

Amelia released her arms and let them fall loosely to her sides, her long hands brushing lightly against the fabric hanging elegantly over rather gaunt hips. Her eyes cast down to the wooden floor tracing worriedly over a pattern only she could see.

"Father," her voice was suddenly raspy and rather shaky, "I feel like my son, or whatever is left of him, is leaving us. I-I-I-"she spluttered, and the tears began to fall again. "I just want my little boy back. Please, in the name of God, won't you be his savior? Won't you bring him to deliverance?"

Father Maxwell felt as if he had been thrown into some melodramatic soap opera; one where all the characters suffered from some sort of seriously intensified mental illness, but he wasn't quite sure if he fit the acting criteria and why in all things pure and holy, had he ever even auditioned for the role in the first place.

He sighed audibly, mentally attempting to collect his racing thoughts and release their hold on his mind with that one single exhale, and then he continued, vexation dripping off of every word he spoke, "just tell me about your son."

Her face seemed to brighten up immediately, "He's a great kid you know. Of course he and Randolf haven't always gotten along. For a majority of Jareth's life it's just been me and him, and then I married Randolf and it was all of a sudden that Jareth had this big mean guy telling him what to do, and as you can see," she pointed to the door that both seemed slightly surprised wasn't still shaking, "Randolf can be a little abrasive sometimes, and yes we had our fights, but Jareth's never let it really affect him until recently. He's gone to school, gotten excellent marks, he's on the track and field team, and he's got a lot of friends, and between you and me, I think he's got his eye on a certain lady fr—"

By this point Father Maxwell had heard enough, "Now Amelia, it's not that I don't care what a great kid Jared is."

"Jareth."

"Yes, Jareth," the priest grinned as she glowered at him, "but I'm here for the exorcism, not to be a family counselor, you'll have to seek someone else's help for that. You're only exacerbating things here, if you want my help, I need to know what bad things Jared is doing, not the good ones."

"Jareth," she corrected him once more, her brow furrowing, not quite understanding the priest's rather unconventional sense of humor.

"Yes, Jareth, now please can you tell me what you've witnessed?"

Her brow furrowed further, and she looked to the right, "Oh, well I'm not quite sure where to start, there's been an awful lot of peculiar things lately."

Father Maxwell rubbed his temples on either side, getting rather annoyed with their little waltz of a conversation, and his words were drenched with exasperation once more as he begged, "Please, Amelia, just start anywhere."

She nodded, deciding to start from the beginning, "Well his grades started slipping and we fought about that all the time. I thought he was doing drugs but I couldn't ever find any. Then he started skipping school, and I thought he was going somewhere so I played hooky one day myself and spied on him but he never left the house, and when I pretended to come home for lunch one day when he stayed home with some sort of make believe illness, there was this loud music that I couldn't even understand, and he was down in the basement talking to someone so I crept down the stairs and no one was there.

"He was just kneeling on the floor talking to himself, but I couldn't understand it because it was really fast, and I'm pretty sure in a different language. Then the last stair made a squeak and he looked over, and he had these really dark circles under his eyes that were all black and his cheeks were all sunken in-like. Then out of no where, one of my figurines smashed into the wall right next to my head and I ran upstairs to call my husband, but I had to go into his room to turn off the music and then suddenly he was there and yelling at me to get out of his room, and then when I got out he slammed the door and told me he hated me, and then when Randolf got home the little guy was asleep and just wouldn't wake up no matter what we did.

"And then I went in there today to tell him a priest was coming to save him, but anytime any one of us went in there things would smash and get broken and the doctor said he saw him levitate today and that the devil made my poor Jareth attack him."

She took in a heaving breath, choked on it, and began a rather ugly fit of sobbing, choking and coughing while Father Maxwell tried to get his head around everything the woman had just sputtered out so quickly.

He stood up to comfortingly rub Amelia on the back, while a rather heavy feeling crept into the room, creating a feel as if someone had gradually put pressure on his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd. Please see my profile if you're interested.

* * *

Chapter Five

Father Maxwell remained deep in thought, even while comforting Amelia. He was sure, betting on the 247 cases prior to this one, that it was not a possession, but she had been quite thorough in her explanations.

"Why don't we go out into the other room so I can talk to everyone together," he offered, opening the door and leading her into the sitting room where Randolf sat watching the television which was placed inside the large wooden masterpiece Father Maxwell had once thought to be a rather misplaced wardrobe.

"Where is Dr. Griffith?" he addressed Randolf, noting the doctors lack of presence.

Randolf removed his eyes from his wife's disheveled form with a roll and looked towards the priest, "Oh, he's stepped out to get some rest, he's been here all day and night for most of the week while Amelia and I were at work, why don't you have a seat?" the man offered, scooting over so there was more room while Father Maxwell made a mental note that the doctor was alone with the child quite often.

"Thank you," he smiled in gesture, taking the seat offered and noting the time as 7:30 on the clock above Amelia's head. "I would like to discuss some things with you both at this time."

He stared expectantly at Randolf for a few awkward moments until Amelia got up to shut the television off and Randolf offered him an apologetic look for his obliviousness.

"For starters," the priest began, "I would like you both to know that I am going to treat this situation as I do with all the others I've encountered, a case."

Amelia took a choking breath in to reiterate her position on her son's demonic possession but quickly snapped her mouth closed when the two men glared at her.

Upon silence, Father Maxwell continued, "Now that's not to say he isn't possessed," he said just to appease her, "but the probability that something else is factoring into his illness is much higher than that of the latter," he folded his arms across his lap, "and quite frankly the three of you, including the absent Dr. Griffith, have got me very confused. I'm sure, by now, you've realized this won't get fixed in a day, but it is my intention to see that it gets fixed as soon as possible. On that note I would prefer, if possible, to be granted the privilege of staying here, where, if an incident arises, I will be able to witness it first hand; however, it is not my intention to impose, so if it will be a problem…" he trailed off.

Father Maxwell had always been one to get the most answers out of people without even asking a question, or at least not a question pertaining to the topic he wanted answers to. It was his best tactic in cases, a sly form of reverse psychology, in question form.

"Oh no, you wouldn't be imposing at all," they simultaneously agreed, and although he couldn't quite scratch them off the suspect list just yet, there simple answer lead him to believe that they had nothing to hide, or were moronic enough to believe they could hide something from him during his stay.

He smiled brightly and was quick to ask where he would be staying. After a few rather unappealing offers, including the couch he sat upon, they decided the futon in the basement would be best, and from there Father Maxwell trudged his way down the steps into the rather cold darkness underneath the ground.

He felt around the wall, noting the last step had indeed loudly moaned under his weight, and upon finding a light switch, flicked it. The light was much dimmer than he expected, and he suddenly felt rather silly for squinting in its faintness. The dull yellow tinted beams revealed a rather dank room.

There was a flat navy blue rug on the floor, covering less than half the room, and above it sat the black metal bracings of a futon, atop that, a hunter green mattress. Obviously these individuals did not know how to match, and Father Maxwell wondered if it was Amelia, with her ocean blue dress and black Mary Janes, that decorated this room.

There was one support beam in the middle of the rather large room separating in no means what so ever the laundry area from his sleeping quarters. There was a door, open, which led to a small tool room, and another on the opposite side of the room, closed, which, with a little snooping, he discovered hid a furnace.

He took a seat on the futon, noting its very uncomfortable cushion, and complaining in his head of the sore back that was sure to come in the morning. He took out a notepad from his duffel bag and began taking notes.

The first; Suspect Number One, Dr. Griffith. Who suspiciously went missing after he came to the conclusion that Father Maxwell was not going to automatically assume this was in fact, demonic possession. He hoped that this would not turn out to be a search for the man, but made note that the family had been paying the doctor personally and all checks would have had to be cashed at some bank, which would thus lead him to an address, full name, social security number, so on and so forth.

It would be silly, if the doctor returned, for the priest to ask of him a blood sample to check for drugs from the child, because he'd run into many accounts where the blood tests weren't accurate due to the doctor himself infringing upon them. So he made a note to order a secondary doctor to come in and take a blood sample. This could be used not only to detect drugs, but also other diseases, including sexually transmitted, or hereditary.

Unfortunately the doctor left with evidence, but there was still the possibility that he would return tomorrow, and if that were the situation Father Maxwell would ask him to return the shirt as evidence, in the hopes that it was not yet washed, and thus do a DNA sample on both child and the shirt.

As he skimmed through his memory he could not recall anything else concerning the doctor, minus a motive, but it was not normal for the priest to come up with a motive to a crime he didn't yet know.

He scribbled down Suspect Number Two, Randolf. The motive was quick in his mind, but it wasn't the motive he wanted. Randolf had claimed he hadn't witnessed anything, yet Amelia claimed she had called her husband wishing for him to return home from work. She never specifically mentioned if she had relayed what she had witnessed to him or not.

Nevertheless he seemed rather exhausted. If the child was doing nothing but sleeping, why would Randolf be so exhausted? It's not as if there was a reason relating to the child for him to be exhausted. On that note, Amelia had said they fought often, specifically over Jareth, so perhaps the fights were getting more fervent with each days passing. Still these only lead to a motive for Randolf, rather than any evidence pointing to him.

Father Maxwell sighed, scratching his head under a chunk of hair with his pencil. He shrugged, flipped the page and began on Amelia, figuring he could always come back to Randolf if something else arose in his brain.

He quickly wrote Suspect Number Three, Amelia. Now Amelia had been rather over dramatic; the most over dramatic out of the group. Her constant mood swings and bouts of crying could all show signs of guilt, which could be from harming her child, and her stories were rather in depth and crazy, which could link to a liar or a delusional. Perhaps he could see if there were any medications in the kitchen or bathroom. He doubted he'd be able to enter the wedded couple's bedroom, but if he got the chance he would be more than happy to do some further snooping.

Father Maxwell laughed to himself. Yes, he was by far the most unorthodox person, never mind priest, that he'd ever met.

She had claimed the floor board squeaked on the last step, and that it did, but there weren't any collectibles, or anything breakable for that matter, in the basement. Of course there was the possibility that she moved the items from the basement to prevent further damage, but where were the shelves the items were once placed on?

The priest stood up to investigate the mystery of the flying object. If he remembered correctly she said the item went flying next to her face. He stood on the last stair and looked over. The only place it would be able to fly is into one of these pressboard cork walls without hitting her, he concluded, and investigated further. The walls were not damaged in the least, but there was a hole the size of a dime in one.

It was shorter than he was, so he leaned down and peeked in. It was pitch black, and without doing further snooping, he decided not worth his time. Suddenly something shone in the hole and Father Maxwell found himself peering into an eye. He squinted further, knowing it couldn't be the eye of a human because everyone was upstairs, but it could possible be the eye of an animal. As he leaned further and closer to the wall to try and decipher what type of animal was staring back at him, it blinked. It took his mind a minute to register that the lid that had blinked was what he least expected, human.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd. Please see my profile if you're interested.

* * *

Chapter Six

When the thought that Father Maxwell was staring into the eye of a human finally registered, he pulled back quickly, running over to the furnace room. His haste swung the door so hard it reverberated back closed. Or at least that's what he told himself until he went over to turn the knob and it was stuck; locked. He felt around quickly for a light switch but the wall ended suddenly and he found himself sprawled out on the floor with a rather ungraceful thud.

There was a lump quelling up from the back of his throat, and he tried with a large swallow to make it go away, but failed. His voice was raw as he spoke, the logical part of his mind failing to remind him there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark. "Hello?"

Everything was eerily silent, and he continued with a new found determination, as the logical part of his brain recovered from the fall and began to try and convince him it was just an optical illusion; however, he was not won over that easily, and swallowed the lump in his throat again. "I know someone's down here; you don't have to be scared. I won't hurt you."

Things remained quiet, but he still didn't dare to remove himself from the floor until his heart became calm from its outrageous beating. "Hel—"

His greeting was cut off by the sound of an awkward squeak. It hadn't seemed quite the sound of a mouse, but perhaps a rather large rat, and as he thought harder, it sounded more of a moan rather than a squeak. The thought alone gave the priest a chill that started from his low spine and crawled up to his hair line.

Before Father Maxwell could make his hasty means of getting up, something, at the time unknown to him, smashed violently mere inches from his face, the debris scattering outward, and the sudden stinging was a sure sign to the priest that he had been struck across the cheek and on his out sprawled hand.

He got up quicker than he had originally intended, now with rats and flying glass wear haunting his mind. When the door swung open, the dim light of the other room filtering in, the priest saw a rather unique but thankfully empty urn shattered on the floor.

"Father Maxwell, I'm not even going to ask what you were doing in here, but my wife needs your help." His voice was fast and worried. "I think I believe now." There was a terror written across Randolf's face, his skin a tint paler than it had been originally, voice a pitch higher, and pupils dilated when the priest's eyes met his.

Father Maxwell trudged up the stairwell behind an incredibly pale Randolf. As he took the last step off the stairs and into the kitchen he could hear screaming, smashing, clashing, thumping and bumping. And as he was led closer to Jareth's bedroom he could hear the distraught sobs of Amelia while she recited a prayer.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven,"

A loud blood curdling screech echoed throughout the house, drowning out a portion of her words, but as it slowly dissipated, so did the bangs and booms from the room.

"And lead us not into temptation," she continued through chokes.

Randolf stepped aside into his bedroom and with curiosity leading him now, Father Maxwell stepped into the bedroom to see Amelia's back facing him. She kneeled beside the sleigh bed in pink pajamas. Her long dark hair was hanging loose in large wavy curls around her face, and her intertwined fingers held between them the tiny delicate hand of her child.

Her body shook along with her voice, "but deliver us from evil," she paused, bowed her head and shifted her bear feet, "Amen." With this last word she released her son's hand with reluctance to bring the fingers of her right to her forehead, chest, left shoulder and then right.

Amelia simultaneously turned her palms to face her and looked down at them. They had gradually gained more and more blood with every placement on her body, but Father Maxwell hadn't noticed the sticky liquid until she faced him, and he saw it dripping off every inch of her face, with a large stain weeping into her adorable shirt. Tears streaked down her face but barely swept away any of the fresh blood.

"F-father?" She murmured out, reaching her hand towards him as he came by her side, only to collapse in his extended arms as he reached. He looked to the young boy, his skin was paler than it had been when he arrived, and his body was covered in sweat. A trickle of fresh blood fell from his the corner of his partly open mouth while a soft whimper escaped his lips.

The priest remained stilled, stunned, with Amelia collapsed in his arms. He couldn't remove his eyes from the poor boy. The doctor had in fact been speaking the truth about the blood, unless the entire family was in on the sick joke. Still it seemed unreal of how the blood would escape his body if not from his mouth. There were no wounds on the boy from what Father Maxwell could see.

He took a deep breathe, trying to regain his thoughts. Suddenly able to snap his vision away from the sickly child, he looked about the room, where numerous items were strewn about the floor, broken bottles, smashed bowls caked with dark rotten food particles, and other indiscernible broken objects.

Father Maxwell looked to where Randolf stood, horror was written across the man's face, with a furrowed eyebrow, a twinge of worry, if not for the boy, for poor Amelia.

He stood, pulling up the collapsed woman with him and dragging her towards her husband. Randolf offered a hand of help, and they both brought the woman to their queen sized bed.

With a stretch, the priest looked about the room while Randolf excused himself. It was painted a cream, with a large wooden beauty parlor against one wall, and a night stand on both sides of the bed. Amelia's body covered half of the comforter, her head resting on a group of three of four pillows.

Her face was contorted with worry and pain, and Father Maxwell's heart fell at the view of it. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, but he decided this was not all melodrama as he had once thought.

Randolf stepped into the room, under one arm, two towels, and in the other hand a group of wet wash clothes. Without offering one to the priest or asking him for help, he took a cloth and lightly scrubbed away the hardening blood from her face. It was sticky and thick and difficult to remove, quickly staining, one, then two clothes before her skin was left tainted pink and speckled with dried flakes.

The man looked to the priest as he reached for her pink night shirt's buttons, and that was enough to let Father Maxwell know to excuse himself. He bowed his head and walked out the room, closing the door on his way. He sighed, the heaviness lifting slightly, but still weighing down.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd. Please see my profile if you're interested.

* * *

Chapter 7

Father Maxwell walked the two steps to Jareth's bedroom door from the couple's room and put a shaky hand on the wooden doorframe. The boy remained still, the trickle of blood that fell from his mouth was long dried. As Father Maxwell stepped into the bedroom to examine the child, a cold chill swiftly swept over him, leaving him stunned and shivering.

He continued another step, feeling a jolt of pain to his brain, a sudden strike of a headache, but the priest was persistent. He took another step, the final step to Jareth's bedside, only to be startled when the boy sat up.

His voice was hoarse and raspy; barely coming out as a whisper from his loosely hung open mouth. "Father Maxwell." His tone was knowing and defiant. A statement of the obvious, from the only person who shouldn't know his name.

"Where's your bible? Your holy water? Holy oil? Rosary beads? Perhaps say a prayer?" The mouth conformed to a wicked grin and the boys head turned towards the priest, his eyes shadowed by the long light brown bangs.

Father Maxwell was shocked still once again. Unsure how to take the matter which was presented in front of him. Unsure if he even understand what was happening, but mostly, unsure if the dark feelings creeping up inside him were even his own.

The wicked grin turned into a full blown smile, followed by a hearty laugh. "Don't fool yourself young one," the boy addressed the priest, "you're not strong enough," and with that the boys mouth closed, cheeks puffing out like a squirrels, only to squirt a sticky liquid out of his puckered lips into the priest's eyes.

Father Maxwell howled, the stinging of blood pulsating from his eyes, making the headache he already felt even worse. He fell back, flailing his arms in attempts to stop the flow, only to quickly move his hands to his eyes, rubbing roughly in attempts to ease the stinging.

A hand grabbed the priest's shoulder tightly, dragging him out of the room. Father Maxwell heard the slam of a door, followed by the flow of water in a sink.

Randolf tossed Father Maxwell a wet wash clothe from the bathroom, hitting the priest directly in the face with his haste, but at the time, eyes stinging from the blood, he barely minded. The wash cloth did him little good; however, and he quickly stood up, throwing the cloth on the ground and reaching his way into the bathroom, filling his palms up with water and splashing them into his eyes.

It took six attempts to get the blood out of his eyes, and when he looked up to the mirror, they were bloodshot and still burned. He hissed out a breath of pain, jabbing the palms of his hands over his eyelids and rubbing harshly.

"What can I get you?" Randolf asked hesitantly, his voice cracking slightly.

Father Maxwell shook his head no, and raised a hand to shoo the boy's father out of the bathroom. Randolf did as he was told with ease, while the priest closed the door and sat on the closed toilet seat. He rested his head in his hands, blinking constantly as his eyes watered from the sting that still remained.

There was no explanation for what he just saw. Or rather not saw but experienced. But Father Maxwell was stubborn and would still not let himself believe this was going to be his first exorcism case ever. Of course he had already had permission to perform an exorcism, but he couldn't perform one unless he allowed himself to believe it first.

Rather, he could perform one, but the boy was right, he wouldn't be strong enough if he didn't believe in it.

He rested his elbows on his knees and interlaced his fingers, mumbling under his breath, "O lord almighty," he heard a muffled growl from the other side of the bathroom wall and stopped momentarily to listen, cupping an ear to the wall, but all went silent.

He re-interlaced his fingers and continued, "God of our ancestors," a wicked laugh echoed throughout the house, it's walls rumbling as it grew. He held onto the windowsill to gain his balance until it ended.

His breathing was sharp and pointed, but his voice was determined as he once again interlaced his fingers and continued, "of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and of their righteous offspring, you who made heaven and Earth with all their order."

"STOP!" A strangled voice bellowed out from the boy's room, a pained voice, a childish voice. And so he did as the boy beckoned, but as he stood up and opened the door, a darkness seemed to shroud over his heart, one he had already felt before, but now had grown stronger.

Randolf met him at the doorway, an eyebrow raised in question at the priest's heaving breaths and flustered look. To anyone else, and at any other time, it'd look as if the priest was being a very naughty priest in that bathroom.

Father Maxwell shook his head; his hands raised in defeat, then gently cradled his head as he walked down the hall, through the living room, into the kitchen, and down the cellar steps.

He went straight to his duffel bag, grabbing his bible. As he stood he looked to the tiny hole in the wall, but it remained black. He swallowed a growing lump in his throat frowning to himself. He grabbed his exorcism tools; holy oil, holy water, a crucifix made of wood attached to his rosary beads, and of course the bible which he already held.

He felt weak and hopeless, something he hadn't felt in a long time, but quickly waved it off to be his lack of allowing himself to believe what was really going on.

He trudged up the stairway, his feet feeling heavy as he struggled his way up. The last steps left him out of breathe and grasped the wall to gain his balance, trying to shake his head free from its daze.

The ground shifted as he persisted on, objects swirling in his vision as he grasped onto whatever solid thing made contact with his hand in attempt for balance.

His face was pale and sickly looking, almost identical to the boys, and Randolf hadn't gone without noticing as Father Maxwell stumbled past him. "Father?" He asked but the priest was oblivious, only hearing a slight murmur of noise and paying it no heed.

He continued till he stood face to face with the closed door of Jareth's bedroom. He slid a shaking hand onto the door knob, its brass handle sending an electrifying currant through him, which made him quickly release it and shake his hand, blowing on it with cold breath in attempts to ease the pain.

His vision swam as he focused on the door knob once again, this time with much more determination; he grasped the handle and opened the door. After taking an ungraceful step in the door slammed shut, startling him out of his dazed state, and suddenly everything was clear.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: Not beta'd. Please see my profile if you're interested.

* * *

Chapter Eight

"Welcome back Father. Gonna try another prayer?" The boy offered with a grin, already sitting up and expecting the priest's arrival.

Father Maxwell shook his head, eyeing the boy cautiously.

"Gonna restrain me?"

The priest took a deep breath, having just thought about doing what was questioned.

"I see you have your holy items now."

Father Maxwell simply nodded, feeling the lump return to his throat.

"Gonna use them?"

He took a deep breath and nodded again, but the boy pouted playfully.

"Aw, forget how to use them? Want me to teach you?" The wicked grin returned to his face, and he laughed.

The priest swallowed, removing the small bottle of holy water and twisting its cap open, "do I need to restrain you?"

Jareth shrugged, "It's up to you," he turned his head away from the priest and looked forward, "Not like it matters," his smile grew larger.

Father Maxwell took the opened holy water and hesitantly flicked it at the boy. He howled in pain, slammed his head backwards onto the pillow and writhed, until it slowly dissipated and he breathed through clenched teeth.

The priest grabbed his bible, flipping it open to a random spot, Ephesians 6:12, and read aloud. "For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and power."

The boy echoed, "power," with a grin and a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead, he sat up again, his chest heaving.

Father Maxwell stopped and eyed him, but continued seconds later, "Against the rulers of this world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in high places."

"Against God," he hissed through clenched teeth, apparently trying to give Father Maxwell the impression that the segment he was reading was not affecting him, but the priest was not that naive.

"Therefore," he continued with more power, "take unto you the armor of God, that you may be able to resist in the evil day, and stand in all things perfect."

"Fuck God!" the boy seethed.

"Stand therefore, having your loins girt—"

Jareth threw his head back and cackled, interrupting the priest once more. "Loins!" he continued to bellow for a few minutes then turned his head to look at the priest, his smile wider than ever.

"About with truth, and having on the breast plate of justice,"

Jareth once again repeated the action as he had just prior, this time bellowing the word 'breast'.

Father Maxwell's voice was shaky and it was hard for him to breath. An anger was building up inside of him for the disrespect being shown for the bible.

"And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace. In all things taking the shield of faith, where with you may be able to extinguish all the fiery darts of the most wicked one."

"Are you extinguishing those fiery darts?" The boys grin widened even further as the priest's nostrils flailed.

"And take unto you the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, by all prayer and supplication praying at all times in the spirit; and in the same watching with all instance and supplication for all the saint."

His voice increased as his spoke each line till the last he yelled with furry.

Even through gritted teeth, Jareth continued to play his games with the priest, "Very good Father," he hissed out.

The priest collapsed, flinging the bible down to the ground with rage. He had never felt so angry in his life. Never felt so violated and infuriated. Never felt so disrespected and infringed upon. He picked up his holy oil, opening the container only to have it burn him upon contact. He flung that too against the ground and it shattered.

"Very very good."

He swallowed the continuous lump in his throat, ripping the rosary beads from his neck as they began to make his skin itchy underneath.

"Saint Michael the Archangel," he began a prayer, kneeling before Jareth and interlacing his fingers.

"Excellent." Jareth leaned forward, looking into the priest's azure eyes with his all black ones.

"Defend us in the hour of battle," he continued, a sudden feeling of fear overwhelming him.

"Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil," Jareth smiled, putting two small hands on the priest's shoulders.

"May g-g-g" The priest couldn't seem to get his name out, "restrain him we humbly pray," his voice was straining, as if his throat was closing up.

"do thou oh prince of Heav…." Father Maxwell growled in frustration, not understanding why the words wouldn't come out, "host, by the power of G-g-g" he stuttered again then shook Jareth's hands from his shoulders.

The boy feel quickly back onto the bed. No smile adorned his face any longer.

Outside the room the newly awoken Amelia listened through the door, husband Randolf in toe.

With his newfound rage Father Maxwell yelled, "cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits that roam through the world seeking the ruin of souls!" He sat back, suddenly feeling void of anything, and a headache crept into his brain once again as he whispered "Amen."


	9. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own any anime or manga, if I ever do, I'll be sure to rub it in your face. :p

Warnings: Language. Controversial subject.

A/N: My sincere apologies for this taking so bloody long; it was by far not my intention. Unfortunately I had run into a little writers block on how to tie up some lose ends and answer some unanswered questions. Regardless, this is the end and hope you all enjoyed.

* * *

Epilogue

Without even saying good bye Father Maxwell left Amelia, Randolf and their now healthy son. He had felt the spirit leave the boy, and it had been evident with Jareth's new found color.

The family, minus Jareth, had followed Father Maxwell out the door, begging for him to stay, wishing him many thanks, offering phone calls for cabs or even money, but the priest continued walking out their door and down the street, leaving his items behind.

As he walked, he removed the collar with a growl, forgetting why it was snuggly around his neck in the first place. He pulled up his button up shirt from its confines underneath his pants and let it hang loosely around his waste, crinkled and all.

After hitch-hiking with random people to the shuttle port, he did not board his normal shuttle, instead he purchased a brand new ticket and flew on the shuttles most individuals do. For most of the ride he slept.

At the Robinson house, Jareth had awoken about an hour after the priest had left, the eye of the demon that once haunted his, and had masked itself to Father Maxwell as a human in order to weaken him, had no longer had its grip on the poor child's heart and soul.

On the other hand, Father Maxwell was a different story. When he arrived back home, the first thing he did was remove all items that he would use as a priest, and all items that reminded him of his priesthood. No, the new Duo Maxwell would have no need for possessions that would weaken the demon inside him. He would be strong in his evil ways.

The office he normally worked in was wiped clean, leaving nothing but a desk in the middle, and telling no one that it was now empty.

For the most part Duo Maxwell remained a recluse, spending most of his time lying in bed sleeping. Occasionally puking up blood in the direction of the door when someone rang the bell to interrupt his sleep.

Six months later the office received a letter, which fell on the top of the pile of many others; however, the contents of this letter were much different than the rest and it read:

_Dear Father Maxwell,_

_Thank you so much for saving our son. You've made our life so much better and we can't thank you enough. Please send us a bill. It's the least we can do for what you've done for us. Oh, and my wife searched for the prayer you saved our son with and found it, so we thought it'd be nice to share it with you, just in case you ever need help._

_-R. Robinson_

And indeed, a card was also enclosed in the envelope. One side, a drawing of a beautiful strong angel with billowing blond hair, the other side The Prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel.

_Saint Michael the Archangel,_

_Defend us in the hour of battle,_

_Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil,_

_May God restrain him we humbly pray,_

_And do thou Oh Prince of the Heavenly Host,_

_By the power of God,_

_Cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits that roam through the world seeking the ruin of souls._

_Amen._

But Duo Maxwell would never receive this letter, even if, as assumed by Randolf, it would help him when he needed it the most, for Duo Maxwell was now possessed by the very demon that he exorcised out of poor Jareth, and sadly he didn't mind so much as he slept for his remaining days.


End file.
